Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5)

by David J Gatward

  ‘Your old school mate, right?’ Harry asked, and Jim gave a nod.

  ‘Neil Hogg, or Hoggy as we call him. Not seen him in a few years. He’s been away for a good while, like, so it was good to catch up. Anyway, I was out till closing time, walked back across the fields—there’s a nice little footpath from Hawes to Burtersett—and this morning, Dad went out like usual, but not early, which isn’t like him. And he wasn’t even up when I left for work, so I should’ve known something was wrong with him then, but he doesn’t like a fuss, like I’ve said, so I didn’t think anything of it, and I suppose when he found what had happened, down in the barn–’

  Harry held up a hand and said, ‘Jim, you’re running away with yourself. How’s about you slow down a bit?’

  ‘Am I?’ Jim asked, lifting his mug then setting it down again without taking a sip. ‘Sorry. It’s just, you know, I should’ve noticed, shouldn’t I?’

  Harry watched Jim look down at his dog, Fly, and pat it on the head. ‘Your dad is usually out early then?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s even been in bed past six in the morning,’ Jim said. ‘Not once in his life. Thinks he’s wasted the best part of the day otherwise. When I was a kid? He would just walk into my room, pull open the curtains, heave open the window to let fresh air in, and that was that!’

  ‘What time does he usually get up, then?’ Jadyn asked.

  ‘Five, five-thirty-ish?’ Jim said.

  ‘Five-thirty?’ Jadyn said. ‘Who the hell gets up at five-thirty? Oh, that’s right, no one! Is he mad?’

  ‘No, he’s a farmer,’ Jim said.

  ‘Though the two are quite similar,’ Matt said.

  ‘True.’ Jim smiled, then explained, ‘There’s always a job to do, something that needs checking over. The sheep are out all winter, like, not up on the tops, but down in the lower fields, closer to the farm. Dad had them in the barn to give them a check over. They’ve all been tupped, and his flock is a prize winner, you see, so he’s a bit more careful than some I suppose. They’re all Swaledales. Beautiful they are. Blackfaces, the lot of them. His pride and joy. Envy of a lot of other farmers up and down dale, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Tupped?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Tups are the ones who get all the action,’ Matt said. ‘Quite the life they lead, if you ask me. Must be exhausting though.’

  ‘I know nowt about sheep farming,’ Harry said. ‘Or any farming for that matter.’

  Matt laughed. ‘I’m keeping a tally, you know, of how many times you say nowt over the next month.’

  ‘Oh, are you?’ Harry said.

  ‘I am,’ Matt nodded. ‘And if you get to a certain number, we’ll know for sure that the dales have really got into your blood.’

  ‘And what’s this certain number, then?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Oh, well, now that would be telling, like, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Back to you, Jim,’ Harry said. ‘You were, I think, giving me a very quick lesson in sheep farming. And you said something about other folk envying your dad’s flock?’

  ‘The ewes are the females,’ Jim explained. ‘Tups are the males we don’t castrate, instead, keeping them on to breed from. And dad’s been working on this flock of his for years now. Proper special, they are. And yes, there are a few out there who wish they had my dad’s flock. But most haven’t got the passion and drive he has to see it through, to put years into it.’

  ‘So, you don’t think someone out there would be jealous enough to come and have one over on your dad by taking them, do you?’

  Jim laughed at this as though it was the daftest thing he had ever heard.

  ‘Not a chance!’ he said. ‘There’s a friendly rivalry, yes, but that’s all.’

  ‘So, what happens, then, to the ones you castrate?’ Harry asked, knowing the answer, but for some reason needing to hear it as well, just to make sure.

  ‘We eat them,’ Jim said. ‘Well, not only us, as in my mum and dad and me scoffing our way through the flock, but the general public. What did you think lamb was, then?’

  ‘Can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought, if I’m honest,’ Harry said. ‘Like most people, I’m sure. Anyway, back to your dad finding them gone.’

  ‘Like I said,’ Jim continued, ‘Dad wasn’t up when I left for work. Mum says he was feeling a bit rough and she tried to get him to take it easy, but as soon as he was up he was out. And that was around nine-thirty I think. Proper late for him, that’s for sure.’

  ‘And that’s when he found them gone?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Not right away, no,’ Jim said. ‘He likes to do things a certain way, so he does his usual walk around. Chickens first, most times, has a little chat with them and a shout at Tom.’

  ‘Tom?’ Jadyn asked. ‘Who’s he when he’s at home? Does your dad employ a farm labourer?’

  ‘The cockerel,’ Jim said.

  Harry laughed hard. ‘Your dad named the cockerel Tom?’

  ‘After Tom Jones,’ explained Jim, ‘on account of him being so bloody loud. Though dad reckons the cockerel would give Tom a run for his money.’

  Harry smiled at that.

  ‘After the chickens, he checks the yard,’ Jim continued, ‘and usually takes a broom with him and a bag, to sweep up a bit, pick up any rubbish that blows off the roads and the fells. You’ll be amazed at the crap we find out and about. Then he’s away over to the sheep, if we’ve got them down off the fell. He knows every single one of them. And that’s when he found them gone.’

  ‘What did he do?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Nowt other than have some kind of funny turn,’ Jim said. ‘Mum went looking for him, having expected him back, and she found him flat out on the barn floor, like he’d been thumped.’

  ‘The shock must have been pretty bad,’ Matt suggested. ‘What did the paramedics say?’

  ‘Not much.’ Jim shrugged. ‘I don’t think it was a stroke or anything, but it’s still a worry, isn’t it? I mean, you think your parents’ll live forever, don’t you? Then something like this happens, and suddenly there they are, all old and vulnerable and you’re in the position of carer.’

  Harry noticed a crack in Jim’s voice and made a note to himself to keep an eye on him for a while. If he needed time from work to keep an eye on his dad, then as far as Harry was concerned, the team would work around it. He couldn’t see any of them complaining, more than likely, the complete opposite.

  ‘Yeah, it was the shock, I think,’ Jim said, agreeing with Matt. ‘That flock, it’s his life and soul, like. They’re everything to him.’ He paused, took a sip of his tea. ‘And now some thieving bastards have come in and—’

  Jim’s voice crumbled then, the crack Harry had just heard splitting deep in an instant, as the emotion of that morning, of what had happened, finally caught up with him.

  Harry reached over and put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, giving it just enough of a squeeze to let him know it was okay to be angry and upset and to not know exactly how to deal with it. Tears were fine, too, and Harry wasn’t going to have anyone on his team think otherwise. He’d been in situations back in the Paras, where the pressure, the terror, had bubbled up not just out of those fighting with him, but himself. Bottling things up did no one any good.

  ‘Right then, we need to take a look,’ Harry said, pushing himself to his feet. Jim made to rise as well, but Harry kept him in his seat with his hand still on the PCSO’s shoulder, adding just enough pressure to make his point clear. ‘You give yourself a few minutes, Jim,’ he said. ‘It’s the barn I saw just down at the far end of the yard, right?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one,’ Jim said.

  Harry glanced over to Matt, who said nothing, and just returned a knowing nod. ‘Jadyn?’

  The police constable shot to his feet.

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘We’ll go and have a little look-see around the place,’ Harry said. ‘Just need to grab some evidence bags and PPE from the car on the way.’

  ‘I’ll go grab al
l that now,’ Jadyn said. ‘Keys, Sarge?’

  Matt lobbed his keys at Jadyn who snatched them out of the air. ‘But don’t you go rummaging around in there,’ he said. ‘My wallet’s in the glove compartment, so you just leave that well alone.’

  ‘You really don’t trust me, do you?’ Jadyn said.

  ‘Not one bit of it,’ Matt said, a smile just turning the corner of his mouth. ‘Would you?’

  ‘No, probably not.’ Jadyn smiled, then left the kitchen and Harry made to follow.

  ‘When will you hear from the hospital?’ Harry asked, pausing at the kitchen door.

  ‘Can’t say that I know for sure,’ Jim replied. ‘Mum’s not exactly great with texting. She either forgets how to unlock her phone, so you don’t hear from her for hours on end, sometimes days, or messages are pinging up at you every five minutes with updates about what she’s doing, what she’s cooking for tea, how dad is, if there’s weather coming in over the top. And she really doesn’t understand emojis. Honestly, the number of times I’ve been sent an angry face after telling her I’m on my way home!’

  ‘Well, as soon as you do, you let us know,’ Harry said, then added, ‘and if you need to go over, then you just let me know.’

  ‘Oh, that won’t be necessary,’ Jim said. ‘Dad’s fine with Mum, I’m sure.’

  Harry walked over to stare down at Jim. ‘It’s not just about whether he’s fine,’ he said. ‘Family comes first. And your mum will need you as much as anything. And you’ll need them. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Boss,’ Jim said.

  ‘Good,’ Harry replied, then turned and left the kitchen, to follow Jadyn back out into the day.

  Chapter Four

  Ruth stared across the kitchen table at her old dad, desperately trying to think of something to say, her own grief threatening to crush her into a breathless mess. The visit from that police officer, Detective Inspector Haig, a female no less, earlier that morning had helped a little, and both herself and her dad had been impressed by what she’d said, the help and support offered.

  ‘We’re not just here to arrest people, you know,’ she had said, her softly lilting Scottish accent a brief moment of light and joy in an otherwise dark day. ‘We’re here to help. And, if you don’t mind me saying so, we’re actually rather good at it, too.’

  Glancing down at the card Detective Inspector Haig had left with them, Ruth then leaned forward to say something to her dad, but the words crumbled to dust and ash in her mouth. She reached a hand over towards her dad’s own, which were clenched in front of him, resting it just on top of his thumbs. His skin was cold and taut, and she could feel the awful tension in him, a spring coiled so tight that, if and when it finally broke, she feared it would snap his sanity in two.

  ‘Dad?’

  The old man didn’t even register her voice, his head down, eyes staring into nothing. At his side was a stick, one he’d cut himself from the woodland outside, to help him get around, what with his leg aching a little from the accident. He’d been checked over and there was, quite amazingly, nothing really wrong with him, except for some bruising and lacerations. Strong old ox, he was.

  ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea?’ Ruth asked. ‘There’s some of that chai stuff you like.’

  ‘No, I’m good, thanks,’ her dad replied, but he still didn’t look up to face her. ‘How’s Anthony?’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine,’ Ruth said, forcing a smile onto her face to make her answer to the question about her son more convincing.

  ‘He’s a lovely lad, you know,’ James said. ‘A gentle soul I think.’

  A bit too gentle, Ruth thought, but knowing that this was not the time to talk about her son, about the bullying, and how she knew that at some point, the school would be asking questions about all the supposed headaches, the absences. But what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t exactly force him to go in, could she? And neither would she. And with what had just happened, well, if Anthony needed time at home, then so be it. She had her dad to deal with as well as her own grief, so everything else would have to take a back seat.

  With her legs and backside numb from sitting so long on a hard chair, and the shock of what had happened to her mother still as raw as it was surreal and impossible to take in or accept, Ruth pushed herself to her feet, her muscles aching so much it was almost as though the grief had penetrated every part of her body, squeezed her dad’s hands, then walked over to fill the kettle from the sink. Looking through a window, she rested her eyes, weary from tears, on the garden, which stretched out from the back of the house. Woods sat to the right, hiding behind them the stepped falls of Cotter Force. Beyond that, lay the ancient valley of Cotterdale, the slopes of Black Hill Moss rising in a sleepy incline to the sky, with Great Shunner Fell hidden far off and behind, a resting giant of a hill.

  Ruth, broken inside in so many ways now, felt a tug of the wildness just beyond the glass and wondered what it would be like to just walk off into it, drenched in her overwhelming sadness. Would the raging torrent of loss be swept away by the deepness of what was out there, the moorlands and becks and the skeletal remains of mines? Or would even that breath-taking wilderness be unable to drown out the wrenching screams inside her head, her heart calling out for her mum to come back, to come home, to tell her it was all just a mistake, a misunderstanding, that it was all okay now?

  As the kettle came to a boil, a cry raced up out of her and Ruth jolted forwards, her hands thumping down on the granite worktop her mum had been so happy to have installed, along with the kitchen, barely two years ago now. She raised a hand to her mouth as if it would ever be enough to hold back the anguish that, right there and then, Ruth simply didn’t see that there would ever be an escape from. Because how could there be? Her mum was gone and she would never see her again, hear her voice, her laugh, ask her advice, or answer when she called her name. It was as though she had found herself at the bottom of a waterfall, and the weight and the cold of the grief was crashing down into her from above, taking away her breath, drowning her.

  ‘Ruthy . . .’

  Ruth wiped her eyes, dug deep to find the shredded remnants of her brave face, and turned to face her dad.

  ‘I can’t live without her,’ James said. ‘I can’t. I don’t know how. And I . . . I don’t want to, Ruthy.’

  ‘None of us do, Dad!’ Ruth snapped back, her words curdled by her cry. ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean . . .’

  Ruth had nothing to say that would make her old dad feel any better, nothing to give, no well deep enough inside her from which to draw. But what he had just said, well, that was frightening. She picked up the card left by the police officer.

  ‘There’s help,’ she said. ‘Professional help. Remember? I’ll give this number a call later, okay? Might be good for all of us, perhaps.’

  ‘Let’s just see,’ James said. ‘And don’t worry, I’m not saying I’m going to do anything stupid, I promise. You know that, don’t you?’

  Ruth forced a smile. ‘Promise me that you won’t.’

  ‘I promise,’ James said. ‘Really, I do.’

  Ruth heard the words but wasn’t sure that she could see enough conviction in her father’s eyes. She would have to keep an eye on him, definitely give the police a call later, just in case. Though part of her wondered if she would ever be done with looking after him. Even with Mum around, that was what she’d done, wasn’t it? It was why she was still there. And sometimes it was a little too much. It wasn’t even that he needed caring for, just that it was the way things had always been. But then dark thoughts swirled, dragging her into a mean place of cold, where she was free of his demands, even though they really weren’t that onerous, and like a stab from a jagged spear, the harshest of thoughts tore through her mind, that this would be easier to deal with if it had been Dad, not Mum.

  Pushing the terrible thoughts down as deep as she dared, Ruth held up a mug and asked, ‘You sure you don’t want one?’

  ‘Go on, then,’ James
said.

  Ruth made two large mugs of tea, half wishing that if she left them to brew for long enough, she would never have to face the reality of what had happened outside of the simple act of making a hot drink.

  ‘Here,’ she said, sitting down eventually and passing her dad a mug of tea. ‘Biscuit?’

  James shook his head and for the next couple of minutes, the two of them just sat there, staring at their drinks, lost to their own emptiness.

  ‘The light, it was so bloody bright,’ James said eventually. ‘She couldn’t see. Neither of us could. It was blinding.’

  ‘It can be like that,’ Ruth said. ‘The headlights on some cars, they’re dangerous.’

  ‘Maybe, though, if I’d been driving . . .’

  ‘No, now don’t go down that road,’ Ruth said, although inside she was thinking the same. ‘What-ifs won’t help anyone, will they?’

  ‘It was her first time driving that car, though, wasn’t it?’ James said.

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Dad,’ Ruth said, though she noticed then, as the words fell from her like tasteless scraps of food, that a darkness inside her had her wondering. It was a new vehicle after all. Big, too. Why hadn’t her dad been driving? Why had he not just let her have a few drinks instead of himself? She shook her head then, to dislodge the thought, but it didn’t work. ‘Don’t start trying to blame yourself in this,’ she continued, hoping her voice would drown out her unhealthy thoughts. ‘You can’t. It wasn’t your fault. At all. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident. A terrible, awful, horrible accident.’

  James sipped his tea, Ruth did the same, but she noticed no taste to it, as though the loss of her mum had now tainted everything around her, turned even water to dust and ash. Nothing would be the same ever again, would it? she thought. Colours would never sing to her as they once had, not even the rich and endlessly varied greens of the dales, which had always managed to breathe life into her, even on the darkest of days. But no day had ever been as dark as this.